After everything Recovery
by Old-story-teller
Summary: AU. Post-Mockingjay. Darker story of how Peeta and Katniss found their way back to each other


**A/N; disclaimer; i own nothing.**

**warning; self harming in this chapter.**

**Chapter one.**

**Prologue/ introduction.**

Screaming, it's not unusual for me to wake up three or four times a night before dawn. Hair matted to my head, sheets, clothes all wet from sweat. It's not rare, for years now I've spent every night like this trapped and tormented by my mind. Every night I expect the same thing, beautiful, vivid dreams, memories of the time I spent with the girl I loved. A time when I was still hopeful, when my life was full of possibilities, but now everything seems so distant- tarnished and faded. Shrouded by a shiny film of lies and lie- truths. I gave up, a long time ago thinking anything of them it doesn't do any good for me to be that deluded. I gave up on that life years ago. All I can do is bury deep inside and hold it there, try to ignore it and move... no keep going because I know I'll never move on.

This is my life, pain... it will be for the rest of it, which by any indication of how things are going won't be longer.

I lay in the bed a little longer till the sweat begins to turn cold. Disgusting but I can't bring myself to care. Rolling off, connecting my prophetic I slowly stumble to the bathroom flicking the light on and turning the shower on to let the water heat up. Placing my hand on either side of the sink, looking at the plain wooden cupboard- large dent in the middle from where my view disgusted me. Peeling off the worn, torn and stinking clothes, dumping them with the rest that have piled up and step into the shower. Instantly I lean my head against the wall, the scorching water running over my body washing away the trace of last night, the water turning red as the thrashing around opened up the scabs alone my arms. I sigh... I could have predict it, hell I couldn't have prevented it no one could because no one knows how the outlet manifests itself. It's become a cruel hobby of mine, something about the inflicting pain give me some sort of sick pleasure and the pain only gets worse with each tear I shed. The pain makes everything real, lets me continue with life- or at least the day. As I step out the shower, sitting in the stole, grabbing the towel that remain in the same place, after every use. The shiny-friendly blade lays in the middle staring back at me, holding it feels familiar in my hand, the one constant-remaining thing in my life.

Taking hold of my, now old friend, placing it on my skin and slowly push and drag it downward, the free-red liquid flowing out in a steady stream. As I said, the pain makes it better, the blood like a stream for the memories to flow out.

The wounds covered-bandaged and wrapped I walk to my studio, gathering the art supplies for my trip today. Painting, for a time was a release from my nightmares-truths but as I drew more the harder it became to continue and after everything I refused to let, one of the only two good things I have left become tarnished. Walking down the stairs, I don't bother with lights any more, the old victor's house is second to me I know ever in and out of it, where all the creaking floor boards are, the closet door under-the-stairs that sticks slightly so why bother with something like light. It's still a few hours till sunrise, enough to finish the baking I started last night, something for lunch. I plan on staying outside for most of the day, though the place I plan on going, the place I found- I have to go through a place I really dis-like, a place that is a constant reminder of the past but the final result, the location is worth the pain to get there. The rolling of the dough, the back and forth is the second thing I have left, though even with this I have to stay away from old recipes, again weak and everyday I berate myself.

Already the sky is lighting up, I know I need to get moving. I don't even lock the door, no one bothers with me any-more and I'm... fine?... with that.

The district is slowly being rebuilt, even after the years passed since the war nothing really happened with it. People, I guess didn't want the trouble of rebuilding from scratch not when other districts that aren't next to a mass graveyard are available. Now though a steady number has returned, increasing slightly every month. 150 at the moment, though Thom tells me more plan on arriving at a later date. I pass him by, even at this early time he's out a small crew that gets bigger within the day already with him. I walk to him, he greets me with his usual smile and handshake.

"Peeta... good morning. Out early today?"

"Yeah, off to paint. Alone." I tell him, many a times before since discovering my release he has offered to keep me company now though he cast a worrying glance at the wrappings before I shake my head. Two things that have happened, my cuts are on display or the evidence that I do it are and I don't wear long clothes to cover them. I don't see the point and two I'm a man of little words now. Haymitch... hell they all said at some-point I could sweet-talk a nation, silvered tongue but now... well I'd be willing to bet they'd be shocked as hell. I only even come into town at this time, before dawn to give the guys a lunch. They're grateful but the looks they give me irritate me. Thom says it;s because they care but I can't believe that, being lied to, cheated, abused, killed... by people you trusted, should have been able to trust. Turning Thom stops me with a hand on my shoulder.

"Peeta how about you stay here today, help us out?"

"No." short to the point, shrugging his hand off and walking back to victors village. My destination is through the back of the village and into the forest, though often I wonder why I don't just pick my art supplies up on the way back I can only ever come up with one answer- I don't like the village.

It's quiet, always too quiet, victor's village that is. Besides me no one lives there, Haymitch is gods knows where probably with Katniss drinking himself into some sort of hole. No one ever took the other houses, though I can hardly blame them. Who really want to live next to the psychopath who barely has a grip on the real world, spends his nights howling away, screaming like a child. Answer no one. Suppose that's why they all up and left, the victors that is. No idea where any of them are, never had a phone call, a letter, nothing. They up and vanished of the face of the earth, their old phone numbers gone, not in use. Even Effie disappeared. After the last time we met though, I can't blame them for wanting nothing to do with me. It was just after my trial, when I was told that as a nut-job I would reprimanded to twelve, banished and confined. Weekly visit from the psych doctors, though they don't happen more like every two to three months. Spending the last minutes being told why you're a fuck-up, that everything that happened was my fault, that me creating the "star-crossed lovers" act ruined her life... well I guess you'd never want to see that person again. That's what they did. Katniss, Primrose, Lillian, Haymitch, Effie, Finnick, Johanna, Annie, Dillon, Gale and his family just vanished.

Shaking my head I leave those thoughts and the ghost village alone, heading off into the woods, armed with nothing if the world sees fit for me to die by wild animals, then who am I to mess with that.

The rising sun is beautiful, casting a lake of lava before me over the still calm lake. I don't where this place is, only that it's about two hours beyond twelve. A tiny little hut, old worn and dilapidated, it still provides cover from the elements should they turn against me but from the clear skies, the warm wind, summer has definitely come. I start slowly, lightly tracing the scene before me, the trees, the lake, the reflections, the shimmering edge of the water. Satisfied with the out line I mix the colours and quickly the vibrant colours transform the canvas into a beautiful work of art. I don't know how long I sit, painting just painting and forgetting about the cruel world I live in, the cruel hand I was dealt.

I sigh, wiping the sweet of my forehead, the sun nearly at its highest point, almost lunch time and I set up the picnic at the edge of the water. Taking off my shoes, socks, rolling my jeans up and dipping my feet in the cool water. An amazing feeling, beautiful as the water cools my body down. I eat the sandwiches I made, chicken and salad. Cold tea to drink, my perfect lunch. I just lay there for the remainder of my time there, listening to nature, the birds chirping, the bees buzzing, animals scurrying around the ground. It's all calming and will give me at least an hour, if I'm lucky, good sleep tonight. Soon though, the sun starts to set and I watch it, setting the shy blazing, burning away... beautiful. I pack up, gathering everything and leaving the lake behind. Dragging my feet along the forest floor, it's the best way for me to outline the path to the lake. Seeing the lights of victor's village I sigh, time to face my night demons.

Something is different about the village tonight. For starters my house isn't the only thing lit up. Another house is, though it never belonged to anyone else who lived here. I ignore it, ass long as they stay the hell away from me, keep out of my life they can live here. I just walk around the front, choosing to see if there's any mail something I only do about once maybe twice a week. Never anything good in it anyway.

Nothing.

"Peeta!" Thom's booming voice calls out to me, spinning I see him coming out of the house lit up, running up to me he has the strangest look about him. My face I'm sure is the picture of not caring. To be honest I just want him to finish and then go. To leave me alone, if I want to talk I will. "Peeta some people moved back, I'm sure they'd greatly appreciate you going over and welcoming them back."  
>"Listen Thom, if I want to talk I will but just keep this in mind. If I don't talk first. I. Don't. Want. To. Talk." I snap at him, shouting each last word, the hurt look on his face sends a pang of pain through my chest but I'll not break. I've given up on caring about the people I hurt. If I don't care then I won't feel anything when the people around me do get hurt.<p>

"Peeta... I'm sorry but I really think that this'll be good for you. Instead of staying inside that house cutting-"  
>"I'll do what the hell I want! Your not my father! Your not my friend! I have NONE!" I breathe heavily, rapidly. "If I want to cut, I'll cut because maybe the pain keeps me grounded, maybe the cutting helps me deal with the fucked up life I have. Maybe... just maybe cutting lets me release everything and actually be able to face the day, instead of curling into a ball and dying! Now fuck off!" I stomp away from him, leaving him standing, speechless. I slam the front door, unable to breathe, the memories building up, flooding my mind with horrible images, past memories both shiny and real. I drop everything, half stumbling, half running up-stairs. Burst through the door to my bathroom, locking the door and grabbing the towel containing the blade. I pull it out and dragged it roughly down my wrist, the blood pouring and my mind clearing into a light haze. Almost euphoric as the blood pours, that's what makes it bad, the feeling of clarity is something so long forgotten about that I don't hear the doors being kicked down, my name being shouted, the blood flowing faster and faster, my face getting paler and paler. I don't realise I've cut too deep. Before I black out I can hear the bathroom door being banged on, Thom's voice as well as others. I lose everything and fall into the dark oblivion that awaits me most nights.<p>

Waking up my mind is foggy, light-headed and queasy.

"Fuuuuuuuck." I groan. Hearing the soft chuckles of someone to the left of me. Thom when I look at him moves closer.

"You know you scared a lot of people last night Peeta." I shrug not really caring about whose upset with me.

"Thom, I don't mean to sound and be more of a dick than already... but... why the fuck do you care? Why the fuck do these other people care and why the fuck should I care what they think?" he sighs, shaking his head and looking away before making for the door. Drove another away.

"No you haven't" shit, said that out loud. " I'm just not going to listen to your crap, when your done feeling sorry for yourself, the people who saved you are down stairs."  
>"Well better tell them to leave before I yell at them for doing it." I tell him, no joking tone in my voice.<p>

"Just come down stairs. Please." I swing my legs over the edge, the prosthetic still attached. Making my way to the bathroom after drawing clean, fresh clothes. "Don't bother trying to lock the door, locks busted. There's also no point in trying to cut yourself any-more, we've taken that blade and any other out of the house. Supervision." just to be a complete bastard I already have a retort on hand.

"can't watch me all the time Thom."

"Watch us." I chuckle darkly, I already know they missed one. I hear the door shut and muffled voice coming from the hall. I close the bathroom door and sit on the stole waiting again for the water to heat. Also taking the blade I hide, within the my fake leg out. Guess you could say it's an emergency one. My morning goes as the rest go, dressing in jeans and a plain black t-shirt I make my way down stairs. Hiking through the woods have kept me strong, the lifting of heavily bags of flour as well, my basement is filled with them now. Walking into the kitchen the voice drawing me there I stand frozen, new bandages showing as all their faces lock on mine, then the fresh cuts. Perfect.

"What the actual fuck? Thom?" I look to him.

"Where did you get the blade Peeta ?" he voice bordering on anger.

"Very big secret. It's all I have left." then a voice that I have heard in many years comes out.

"You've got us left." I actually laugh at this, really laugh and hard. Almost doubling over.

"Good that's a good one. I think it's been what? Five? Six? Seven years? I stopped counting a while back." I continue chuckling, moving to get something to eat. "So tell me? To what do I owe the great and honourable presences of the Mockingjay and her group?" I ask, not looking or bothering to cover up my sarcasm or hatred.

"What the fuck is wrong with you bread-boy? Huh... we didn't have to come here-"

"Exactly! You didn't have to. So why? Why Now?"  
>"Because we hear that Peeta Mellark is one step away from slicing his fucking arm open! Whoops you crossed that line last night."<br>"Your point? I my method any different from yours? Not caring. Haymitch's, drinking until he's not able to remember. The Morphlings getting high every second. We all have our ways of cooping Johanna. Mockingjay's is running. So tell why... Now?" I ask and for once, the great sarcastic Johanna Manson doesn't have a response.

Katniss stands, walking right up to me and slaps me hard while I just let it happen.  
>"Feel good? Well then get the fuck out of my house." I spit in her face.<p>

"Your not my Peeta." again I laugh.

"Ohhhh Mockingjay. I never was your Peeta because you never wanted me." I tell her, moving around her and out the back door. Katniss comes running out.

"Peeta! please just let me talk."

"About what? how you left me! Sorry Katniss but you've had years to fucking do this. God only know why your here now but I'm over it. Leave. me. Alone." with those last words I walk away, leaving her crying after me. I cut let her back in, the pain of losing her again would finally kill me.

A/N: hope you like R&R.


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